Note to self: Before I die

-Hike the Triple Crown

-Own/develop a self-sustaining farm

-Master another language

-Publish new writing

-Get paid for for fiction writing

-See The Big Trees of California

-Visit: Patagonia, Alaska/B.C., Ireland.

-Read: Moby Dick, War and Peace, Gravity's Rainbow

-Learn keyboards/bass

-Get paid to play music

(Author's note: contents subject to change)

Rest

You leave Sarasota at dark and head north on I-75. As the night grows dark, the wind wrestles the small rental car at your hands.

When the urge to piss becomes too great to ignore any longer, you pull over at a rest stop.

A mother and daughter in the vending machine alcove stare out at you as you pass through the atrium of the rest area. You walk under the buzzing bug lamp and try not to look suspicious.

The bathroom is a hideously unpleasant experience and you chose not to reflect on it further.

On the way back to the car, you decide to check the state road map under the plexiglass frame in the atrium next to the drinking fountains but discover that an older woman wearing a Brewers baseball cap precariously on her frizzy white bob has positioned herself directly in front of the map and even though you slow as you pass and try to catch a notion of where you are in the Sunshine State, the elderly woman makes no effort to step aside.

You decide to give the old woman some privacy while she examines the map. Wait your turn, you think, heading over to the vending machine alcove. There is the long drive ahead of you, north to Inverness in the dark, rolling pine forests of Western Central Florida. A Coca-cola would do nicely.

You have a dollar in quarters jangling around in the pocket of your blue jeans. Oddly, the mother and daughter are still here. They are taking turns yelling Spanish into a cell phone. You spy a soda machine with giant, clearly marked buttons and a glowing picture of a soaking wet bottle of frothy Coke, nestled in a bed of ice.

You taste saliva.

The soda is $1.50.

You have $1.

Cursing at humanity. Profane exhortations.

There is a credit card reader on the machine, which you briefly consider using, before deciding it's probably better if there is no record or paper trail indicating your presence at this cursed rest stop on this night. Better to just tough it out until Inverness, where you plan on holing up in a back-roads motel, eating McDonalds, sipping a flask of rum, and watching whatever crap is on HBO.

Tomorrow, you will hike into the woods for three days alone, in search of meaning. Tonight, you are on the run. You've convinced yourself in the quiet cabin of your rental car that things can't get better than they have in the last few days. So, you are running from the inevitability that, all things being equal, your life is about to begin a downward descent.

As you leave the vending station, you notice that the old woman is now joined by an old man at the map, the two of the them together essentially blocking the map completely from your view.

You are about to make a verbal protest or, at the very least, some sort of annoyed clucking of your tongue when the wind becomes impossible to ignore.

Out in the balmy Florida night, rain is falling. The mother and daughter have retreated to a camper van in the parking lot. The rain is increasing in intensity by the second. The sound of traffic on I-75 is almost completely blocked out by the sound of the falling water.

The time for action has arrived. You sprint towards the rental, through the atrium, into the pouring cold rain, cursing yourself for parking so far away, your logic being that you could probably benefit from a little walk especially considering that you were planning on hiking thirty-eight miles in the coming weekend.

 

Now though, there is a stream of rainwater draining through the parking lot, separating you from the warm, dry interior of the rental.

Cars are slowing out of I-75. it's windy and cold and pouring rain. You approach the roiling river of water separating you and the rental, making a heroic leap into the air over the raging waters of the parking lot rapids, landing a foot too shy, your pant legs getting soaked.

You rush up to the car and fumble with the locks, looking up in time to see the daughter from the mother/daughter vending-area combo peering out at you sympathetically (or is it amusement?) through the foggy (and presumably dry and toasty) interior of the camper van as it backs out of the parking spot and lumbers towards the freeway. 

Lines on a map

Before I began planning for my expedition, the Appalachian Trail was an ambiguous squiggly line on a map. Sure, I could point out a handful of locations—Springer and Katahdin of course. The Smokies and Shenandoah. Maybe a couple of other odd locations. Beyond that, the AT was simply a long trail full of meandering mountains and dark forests.

 You can almost see Maine. Almost. 

Fast forward to current times.

The planning and preparation stage of a long hike often lasts longer than the actual hike, which is truly a testament to how important it is to be prepared. Lately, I have begun familiarizing myself with this long line on the map and all of the specific points that make up the whole.

This stage of preparations is essential for the very basic reason that you need to know where you are going and what to expect when you get there. I personally would never dream of carrying more than ten days worth of food rations, which means that I can expect to need to stop every ten days at the very least. It's challenging to say with any certainty how long it will take to get from point A to point B unless you are actually on the trail. But a general estimate gives you piece of mind and something to shoot for. 

This bad boy has become my bible. The Thru-hiker's companion is a comprehensive outline of every thing you need to know about the trail: distances, places to stop, places to get water, phone numbers, shuttles, parks, the whole nine-yards. The companion is essential for someone considering a long-hike on the AT (or this one. They both have their pluses and minuses but both include all of the necessary information).

On the Pacific Crest and Continental Divide Trails, it's not uncommon to go 10 days or longer without a resupply. On the AT, this is not the case. Trail towns are more frequent and easier to reach. The longest section without a resupply is in the Hundred-Mile Wilderness in the north of Maine as you approach the summit of Katahdin (it's actually a little less than a hundred miles via the trail. Doesn't that name just pique your curiosity endlessly?). For the vast majority of the trail, you can expect to cross roads leading to towns about every two to three days. There are even several towns that the trail goes through, making resupply a breeze.

For my purposes, I have created an Excel Spreadsheet to lay down all of the numbers. Since beginning this stage, I've better visualized the hike, making the whole expedition feel more concrete and possible. All of the details are coming into place.

For my spreadsheet, I broke down the categories as follows:

-total distance

-clothes worn (what I can expect to wear on an average day)

-clothes carried (everything else: rain gear, cold weather gear, and sleeping clothes)

-packing system (backpack specs, # of stuff sacks and their contents)

-shelter system (I use this amazing thing)

-sleeping system (sleeping bag, under quilt, over quilt)

-cooking system (stove specs and amt of fuel carried on average, plus utensils)

-kitchen supplies (food rations, spices, sugar, etc.)

-essentials (everything else:grooming, sanitation, entertainment, identification, etc.)

 Ahh, home sweet home.

In addition, I've come up with a rough budget that considers food and transportation to and from the trail. I gave myself an approximate allowance of $10/day—some days I will spend way less than this, some days I may spend more. I subtracted this amount from the amount I plan to use for the trail and am left over with how much money I can spend in towns and other expenses.

Food (average $10/day)

+ Travel to/from trail

= Budget

Expected savings

- Budget

= Amount leftover for incidentals

I've also made a list of all the towns, lodgings, and resupply opportunities DIRECTLY on or near the trail. It's a short list but these spots will be PLANNED stops where I can expect to spend at least one night in a bed, take a shower, laundry, and get fresh supplies. These will not be the only stops that I make but they will be the ones I can plan on making and they are spaced so that I will only need about one or two resupply points between each town (approx. 100-120 miles between planned stops. Other resupply points are depending on frequency and how often I run out of food).

This is still a work in progress. I haven't even tackled the option of mail drops yet (mailing resupply packages). Needless to say, a lot of thought and planning is going into this most excellent expedition.

Why

Why We Hike

Some of us go to find ourselves. Some to get lost. Some are in search of what the Appalachian Trail conference’s motto refers to as “fellowship with the woods.” And some of us just want to disappear for a while.

I’ve neglected this blog lately for reasons I want to abstractly discuss here (and isn’t it always abstract?). Motive is a primary concern for the hopeful AT thru-hiker. The long hours spent walking and thinking give rise to a great many concerns and doubts—and doubt, both in preparation for and during the actual hike, is the thru-hiker’s greatest enemy.

When I find myself doubting my reasons—when the world is closing in or getting too fast or noisy—when life feels only like a superficial series of decisions, I always try to remember Thoreau:

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not when I came to die, discover I had not lived.” –Walden

Tattoos don’t fit with my beliefs, principally that attachment causes grief. But, if ever there was something that I felt I needed to carry for the duration of my existence, it would be Thoreau’s noble motive. There is simplicity in hiking that allows for a deeper appreciation for the things that make up your life—both physical and immaterial. The simple act of finding drinking water is at once empowering and humbling, to say nothing of being able to carry everything you need to survive on your back. This is why I hike.

Preparation for a thru-hike involves a lot of distance calculations, weight ratios, and synthetic fabric. Also: a good deal of stress thinking about bears, insect-borne illnesses, injury, socially challenged “mountain folk”, giardia, and the realization that almost half a year will be spent alone, outside, in the middle of the Great Eastern Deciduous Forest. Needless to say, I sometimes question the colossal effort required to accomplish this goal. I believe this is natural. After all, simply financing this crazy scheme is a mountainous effort unto itself. It’s not unexpected that the hopeful thru-hiker would experience some motivational deliberations. And that’s when I must remember Thoreau.

Nature=Perspective=Healing.

Every aspect of this hike is a zen meditation on determination. Logistical problems abound at every corner and present life crises peel my attention away from the goal at hand. In his book on the psychological aspects of being a thru-hiker called Appalachian Trials, author Zach Davis proposes that the would-be thru-hiker create a list of the reasons for wanting to hike the AT, so that during those moments of doubt and confusion, you may look upon your list and be inspired anew.

Anticipating this doubt (after all, a lot can happen during the year of preparation) I crafted my own list of motives.

I plan to carry this list in my pack once I’m on the trail. For now I keep it with my boots and walking stick, within easy reach. 

When Things Go Wrong with: Common Preparatory Mistakes

Last time, we had fun talking about some of the misconceptions and dangers people have about running into wild animals in the back-country. As promised, this installment will be concerning some of the Common Preparatory Mistakes a novice hiker might unconsciously commit, as well as answers to questions like: “What if I get lost?”

Without further ado:

 

Hike Your Own Hike

Granted it's a cheezy maxim but there is some truth in there. Even after having logged a significant amount of time on the trail, I still get the inevitable anticipation early on in my hike that I like to call the “Where are we going?” reflex. Hiking is more about the actual hike than the destination but it takes a while to appreciate this, even for the experienced hiker. After all, usually you're just walking and walking and walking past trees and trees and more trees and the occasional rock. It can seem a tad repetitive.

How each individual hiker learns to appreciate nature is their own business and a large part of the appeal of backpacking. I won't get into that here—but I will caution that the Where Are We Going reflex can have some negative physical consequences outside of making the early part of the hike seem anti-climatic.

A hiker who is too enthusiastic in the early part of a hike—too eager to get somewhere—will not enjoy the hike and will expend vital physical and mental energy. During times like these, it is important to remember that if you are lugging weight on your back and walking at a significant pace, you are most certainly exercising. Though it may seem like you are just walking, even if you are not carrying weight, it is important to be physically prepared for a hike. Know the way your body will react to extreme physical activity so that you can regulate how much energy you are expanding—which usually means “slow down, there isn't a Hardee's at the end of the trail brah”.

When you do hit the trail, it is important to hike your own hike—go at your own pace, find your comfortable stride, and, for goodness sake, stop and take in the ever changing landscape every once in a while. Just remember that it's better than being on a treadmill.

Camel Up

On my last back-packing trip, I decided to try an experiment—something that is popular on the Pacific Crest Trail where it might be a hundred miles between water sources. This technique is referred to as Camel Up. This is more an insider tip than a precautionary tool, although in certain terrains where water sources are scarce or far apart, it may be necessary. 

The basic idea is to drink as much water as you can comfortably stomach—and then drink more. And just keep drinking until you're ready to hit the trail. Granted you will be peeing on every other tree but you won't need to carry as much water because you will be full of water. It just makes sense. In areas where water sources are scarce, it may be necessary to carry more water than you usually would or to cache water before hand in certain hidden locations along the trail. Ultimately, water is incredibly important on the trail so however you get it, always make sure that you have enough.

A Serious Drinking Problem

There is something ennobling about finding a water source in the back-country. A common concern among novice hikers is water availability and quality. There are (usually) no water fountains on the trail. But drinking from a mountain spring is a deeply satisfying endeavor that can't be duplicated in civilization.

Finding water is one thing, but once you find it, you still may not be satisfied. Water quality in the back-country is fickle. Sometimes it's burbling straight out of the face of a mountain. Other times, you're using your bandanna as a sponge to get at three-day old rain-water collected in the concavities of tree-trunks. Ewww.

Where ever you get it, water should always be treated somehow. Filter, boil, or add a chemical. Hell, do all three. Some hikers boast of drinking straight from the source like burly mountain men. I've read reports of Giardia and all the other wonderful waterborne nasties and from what I've heard, it feels kind of like you've had your insides taken out, dropped in a blender, burned, and then placed back into your eviscerated abdomen.

That being said, know how to use your treatment method before you are relying on it in the back-country—and if you are using chemicals, know how you react to their inclusion in your drinking water. Dad and I had a scary incident on the AT involving iodine water treatment tablets. The packaging specifically lists the tablets as being “good for camping.” According to the CDC's website, Iodine is not recommended for pregnant women, people with thyroid problems, those with known hypersensitivity to iodine, or continuous use for more than a few weeks at a time.

After using Iodine for two days, we were both feeling queasy and unsteady, not a good way to be in the middle of Nowhere, Georgia. We decided to boil our water for the rest of the trip, which was a great idea until we ran out of fuel. Still a day out from the ranger station and without a reliable means to purify water, we started rationing. On the last day, we had a five mile hike over two mountains back into Amicalola State Park. We drank the last of our water before breaking camp and stumbled over the mountains in the exhausting June heat. Water out of a public bathroom faucet never tasted so good.

That's Why You Always Leave a Note

I enjoy hiking by myself. I prefer to have a companion but occasionally, the solitude of the trail is necessary to heal the wounds inflicted by civilized life. When hiking alone in particular, it is extremely important to let a friend or family member know so that in the event that you walk off the side of a mountain, people will have a general idea of where to search for your corpse. 

When I was in college, I would frequently get the urge to escape the bustle of Tampa and get out to the trail. The Old Fort King Trail north of USF near Hillsborough River State Park is an exceptionally enjoyable trail that travels through some remote hardwood flood-plain forests as part of the Lower Hillsborough Wilderness Preserve. I went there so often that my roommate kept a copy of the trail map and the phone number of the State Park handy in the event that I didn't return. This is always just about the best thing you can do before tramping off into the wild. So many back-country tragedies would have ended differently if people would just remember to always leave a note.

Getting lost is usually pretty high on the list of novice fears about hiking. Most public trails are blazed and those that aren't are probably not the place to learn how to hike. A map is always useful as is a compass or at least a general idea of where you're going. However, should you look up and out of a deep thought to discover that you are no longer on the trail, the best thing to do is to stop and try to get your barrings. If you're really lost, sit down, maybe make some noise, and settle in. If you left a schedule of your trip, you probably won't have to wait more than a few hours. If you packed smart, you should have everything you need in your pack to survive a few uncomfortable hours in the back-country.

Which brings us to our next point—

Back-country Insurance

Since acts of god aren't usually covered in life insurance, about the closest thing to peace of mind you can have in the back-country is knowing that you're well prepared and ready to take on whatever devices of lethal cunning Mother Nature decides to throw your way.

However, no one wants to be the hiker overburdened with crap.

The best way to travel in the back-country is light. I like to make my own gear as much as possible and this little nifty gizmo is probably the most important piece I've made yet (a close second would be the beer-can stove I will be talking about in a later post).

Now—I know what you're thinking. What the hell do I need with a commemorative Celestial Seasons Sleepy Time Tea Tin covered in painter's tape? Well, guess what suckers? This little bad boy is about as close to back-country insurance as you can get.

The tape serves as a water seal but is also useful for fixing rips in your gear. Normally, I would use duct tape but the painter's tape works better for illustration.

What you have is a very compact survival kit or, as I like to refer to it, the Shit-Just-Got-Real-Tin.

Inside, I have

-combination compass/magnifying glass

-candle/wax tipped matches(waterproof)

-Thick sewing needle and several meters of fishing line

-a fishing lure (I would prefer a couple hooks but the big red thing was all I could find in the shed)

-gauze

-ibuprofen

-bismuth tablets

-benedryl

-antiseptic pads

This little nifty gizmo is a combination compass and magnifying glass and just about the coolest thing ever.

I would like to add a bit more to the first-aid section including emergency chlorine tablets, a straight razor, and a wire-saw. I would need a larger case though as my nifty little tea tin is already bulging at center. An Altoids tin would also work well. 

So, that will about do it for this week. Tune in to our next post as we conclude the When Things Go Wrong  series with a section on Weather related issues.  

Now go take a hike! 

When things go wrong: Animals

We were two days out from Amicalola State Park, nearing the top of Springer Mountain and the official start of The Appalachian Trail, deep in the whispery shadows of the Chattahootchee National Forest, when the iodine water purification tablets we had brought along began to wreak havoc on our stomachs. It was a long hike back to the car and safe drinking water, two days if by leisurely, well hydrated stroll. The water bubbling from the fabled mountain springs was as clear as tap water but every water source we'd encountered had a sign posted nearby that warned against untreated water. We only had enough fuel for our meals so boiling water was out of the question. We were paranoid, low on water, delirious and dehydrated with iodine poisoning and we were in the middle of nowhere. In other words, we were fucked.

A common theme that comes up when talking about the Appalachian Trail, and spending time in the back-country in general, concerns the risks and dangers associated with the enterprise. The woods are, after all, a scary place. There is a reason that all of our folklore and fables cast them as foreboding domains of evil spirits and monsters. In those old stories, when people wandered into the woods, they were seldom likely to come back out again. People are afraid of the wilderness because it's primitive and it lacks all of the conveniences and safeties of civilization—in fact presents the very antithesis to the concept of society and civilization.

Nature calls

It's easy to get wrapped up in the paranoia of the wild, especially when considering spending an extended period of time there. After having encountered my own fair share of crises on the trail, I can safely say that a little preparation goes a long way towards peace of mind.

But you will still encounter people asking you about bears and snakes and making you all paranoid again.

So, what's a novice hiker to do?

For your conveniences and reading pleasure, I present to you some of the common dangers and misconceptions of the back-country. This will be a multi-part series, where I will focus on animal encounters, common preparatory mistakes and weather related dangers, as well as a few other little nuggets of paranoia to chew on next time you find yourself out in the woods.

So let's get to it.

In our first installment, we will talk about When Things Go Wrong with: Animals. It is a mistake to go into the back-country thinking that you are going to be stalked by a bear. The thing to remember about all animals is that we usually frighten or intimidate them. More often than not, this makes them run away. Occasionally, this makes them aggressive. That is when you want to be prepared. People are equal parts fascinated and terrified by wild animals. We scream over spiders and try to lure bears into camp for a photo opportunity. In reality, the risk of running into trouble with animals is, like all other back-country dangers, directly related to you level of preparation.

But let's be honest here for a second, who wouldn't want to stumble upon a bear (from a safe distance, of course—preferably from the other side of an electrified fence or plexiglass view-port) and observe him plumping himself on spring berries in his bucolic meadow abode long enough to snap a picture for the folks back home? Isn't seeing wild animals one of the reasons people like to venture into the woods? Granted, there is a difference between snapping a few photos of a dew-covered fawn and using your camera as a last-line-of-defense projectile weapon against a ravenous, charging grizzly. There is a fine line between luck and fate and sometimes even the greatest amount of preparation cannot prevent tragedy.

That being said, there are ways to protect yourself from these situations. Hiking in the eastern US, bears and snakes are the most commonly feared back-woods assailants. In reality, ticks and mosquitoes are probably to be more feared because of their growing abundance and tendency to carry nasty little maladies. DEET is sadly the most effective weapon we have against West Nile, Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, Lyme disease, and a host of other extremely unpleasant and downright dangerous ailments. While I think it is fool hardy for any hiker to leave without a can of DEET product in his emergency rations, I don't recommend using DEET unless the bugs are a serious problem. The dangerous chemical can have a negative impact on the environment and you. In tick season, stay on the trail and wear long sleeves and pants tucked into your socks. Avoid hiking after the rain to cut down on mosquitoes. Common sense goes a long way.

But what about the animals that aren't dissuaded by a sticky layer of insect repellant?

Black Bears are common on the AT, especially in the National Parks where they know they can get food. For the most part, the bears are a nuisance and nothing more, providing a hint of danger for backpackers—nothing like the paranoid terror that would be associated with hiking through Grizzly territory out west. Black bears are generally shy towards humans. Attacks are rare and usually revolve around the bear trying to get the hiker to relinquish his food stores.

Serious black bear attacks usually only occur out west where the species grows larger and generally more aggressive. Much research has been done on what drives a bear to attack and how to avoid the situation. In the case of black bears, a great deal of conflicting information exists concerning what you should and should not do if a black bear does decide to rage on you.

Some research has suggested that playing dead only works with grizzlies, who are known to lose interest in prey that doesn't fight back (which is, I think, rather sporting). Black bears, on the other hand, like to keep chewing whether you're pretending to care or not. However, cases of black bear attacks where the victim did in fact play dead and survive provide evidence to the contrary. There is enough contradiction to keep you indoors for the rest of your life.

Wish you were here

Two things are for certain with black bears: never climb a tree and never, ever run. Black bears are excellent climbers and should you decide to escape by climbing a tree, the bear will happily climb up and retrieve you. And of course, you should never run from any charging animal. Which is bland advice for me to be writing from the safety of my bedroom. As Bill Bryson notes in A Walk in the Woods, “Take it from me, if you are in an open space with no weapons and a [bear] comes for you, run. If nothing else, it will give you something to do with the last seven seconds of your life.” The obvious lesson here is—run if you must but know that you have just signed your life over.

The whole topic of bears is very interesting and raises a lot of questions and concerns. I have yet to spend a single night in a tent without thinking, at least once, that a growling bear was just outside with dripping maw and claws. The reality of the situation is that bears are wild animals and as such, they are unpredictable.

To avoid bears, it is best to make a lot of noise to announce your presence and avoid startling any nearby critters. Out west, in places like Yosemite and Grand Canyon, back packers are required to carry their food in bear canisters, which are metal or hard plastic cylinders with smooth surfaces that are virtually impenetrable for bears. It is considered standard practice almost everywhere for back packers to hang their food bags at night from a tree at least twenty feet above the ground and ten feet from the tree trunk to dissuade bears and racoons. Food and strong smelling items should always be kept down wind from camp at least twenty yards (or further if possible)

Cougar: In Florida, we call the smaller subspecies Panther. They are also known as Mountain Lion and archaically as Catamount. If you see one of these majestic creatures, consider yourself lucky. Sightings are exceedingly rare, as all wild cats are commonly reclusive. There have been reports of attacks out west by the beefy northwest mountain lions, but these are rare and are usually against children, pets, or small or elderly people hiking alone. In the Eastern US, the animal is officially declared extinct, though reports of sightings persist. The chances of being struck by lightening are probably significantly higher than being mauled (much less eaten) by an Eastern Mountain Lion.

Snakes: I always walk with a stick not just because it makes me look like a bad-ass wizard but also because my stick is my primary defense against snakes. In this day in age, where most hospitals carry anti-venom, death by snake bite is rare.

Still, snakes are a real danger in the back-country. I use my stick to reach into dark places or turn over logs or rocks. If a snake is in the trail, I either give it a wide berth or use the stick to gently guide it in the other direction.

In general, it is always a good idea to shake out shoes, clothes, and sleeping bags before use to avoid getting surprised by snakes or bugs looking for shelter.

The most poisonous snakes in the Eastern US are the Cottonmouth Water Moccasin, The Coral Snake, and the Diamondback Rattlesnake.

Cottonmouths are known to be aggressive and will stand their ground. It is best to give them plenty of space as their venom is particularly damaging to flesh (amputations are not uncommon in bite victims). 

Cottonmouth

 

Coral Snakes are uniquely colored, timid and small snakes that pack an extremely potent neurotoxic venom. Always remember some variation of the saying: Red to yellow—kill a fellow, red to black—put it back. Bites are extremely rare, only a few per year on average. The problem is that the bites are so rare, anti venom for is no longer going to be produced because of the cost for synthesis. So--in particular avoid these guys. 

Rattlesnakes, and Diamondback Rattlesnakes in particularly, are magnificent to behold in their natural environment. They are aggressive but not particularly fond of people. They announce their presence by shaking their tail which is made of keratin, the same stuff as your finger nails. The smaller Pygmy Rattlesnake is common in Florida but it's diminutive rattle is so quiet, it is often mistaken for rustling leaves. I've almost stepped on them while they are sunning themselves in the trail. The Pygmy's venom is not produced in large quantities so it is not particularly dangerous, although the bite is necessarily unpleasant. 

Smaller Eastern Diamondback

Pygmy Rattlesnake

 

Other Concerns: Coyotes are increasingly becoming a presence in the Eastern US. Personally, I have seen and/or heard several in the central Florida area within the last few years and I also encountered their haunting call one pitch-black night in the Southern Appalachians. However, encounters are rare and they are not known to attack humans.

Another frequent presence in the back-country is the feral hog. Especially in the south, these invasive, destructive, often ill-tempered animals are known to display aggression when cornered. The most dangerous situation involving a hog would likely be related to the height of his tusks in relation to your femoral artery. Hog attacks are rare though outside of the hunting world and deaths are almost unheard of. The animals are surprisingly smart and seem to know enough to avoid humans.

Speaking of which, since we are talking about When Things Go Wrong with: Animals, let's consider a very commonly encountered animal: humans. It is best to rely on your instincts when it comes to encountering other people on the trail. If a situation makes you uncomfortable, move on. Don't tell strangers where you are going or how many people are in your party. I personally have never encountered any trouble from other people on the trail but it would be foolish to not consider the dangers associated with human attacks on the trail. More often then not, trail heads or trail parking areas are the most unsafe. I'm always a little leery when returning to the car of muggers or something of that nature, particularly when hiking near highly developed areas.

That about does it for now. Tune in to the next post for When Things Go Wrong with: Common Preparatory Mistakes (like bringing iodine as water treatment for an extended period of time when one or more members of your party are allergic to iodine...fun!)